


Not Your Average Teenage Movie

by lahdolphin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Death, Friendship, Gen, Ghosts, Horror, Intrusive Thoughts, Mild Gore, Murder Mystery, Psychics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-19 05:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12404151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahdolphin/pseuds/lahdolphin
Summary: When Oikawa is twelve years old, he knows there’s a boy by the river. He knows the boy is dead. Years later, he knows once again. Years later, he can stop it. (An attempt at a spooky Halloween fic.)





	1. Last Day of Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: None of the tagged characters die in this fic. However, there are untagged canon characters that are already dead and their deaths are talked about so if that bothers you, steer clear of this one.

When Oikawa was twelve years old, he knew there was a boy by the river. He knew the boy was dead.

He knew that he shouldn’t know this. He knew it was all in his head. The media kept talking about the boy went missing earlier that week, about how they just up and vanished without a trace. No ransom, no leads, no evidence. Just _gone_. They were ten years old, a kid with bright orange hair and a big smile in the yearbook picture they plastered on every telephone pole in their tiny town. 

Yet Oikawa saw him down by the river. 

It was all in his head and that was the problem. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Every time he thought, every time he shied away to the recesses of his own mind, he saw the boy down by the river.

“Why are we going to the river?” Sawamura asked, pedaling furiously to keep up with Oikawa, whose hair pushed out of his face and glasses dug divots into the skin by his eyes.

“Because!” Oikawa replied stubbornly.

Because it was in his head and he needed to know the boy was not down by the river.

“Maybe it’s another UFO!” Bokuto said in good-hearted jest.

Kuroo laughed.

Iwaizumi rode next to Oikawa. His bike that had been shiny red at Christmas last year was now covered in mud and dust, the paint peeled back in several places like skin after a sunburn.

“I know it’s the last day of summer,” Iwaizumi said, looking over at Oikawa before they hit the dirt road leading into the forest and he had to pay attention to where they were going or he would crash and bruise, “but this is a stupid idea for a last summer adventure. The river is boring. It’s not even frog season.”

Oikawa didn’t glance at him. He picked up the space, knowing his friends would follow.

They rode through the familiar, bumpy dirt road. It wasn’t really a road. It was a path the kids of the town had carved into existence years and years ago with running feet and fast bikes and dangerous afternoons. It was thin but there, an obvious clearing the overgrowth of the forest that let out at a shallow river. Further down, there was a lake, where they would swim on the hottest days. There was a different road that ran to the lake—another one carved out by kids—but it was not the path to the boy, so Oikawa did not take it.

He took them to the river.

Oikawa got off his bike and leaned it against a tree. Sawamura did the same. Iwaizumi, Kuroo, and Bokuto let their bikes fall to the ground. The grass was shorter here. It was longer by the river edge.

Oikawa ran forward towards the edge of the water then into the river, the bare skin not hidden by his shorts raising against the cool flow of the water. The river only came up to the middle of his calves. His socks were soaked and would squish in his shoes the whole way home.

He looked for the boy.

“Tooru,” Kuroo said, wading into the water after him, “what’s going on?”

“I saw,” Oikawa said, not elaborating.

“Saw what?” Iwaizumi asked. He went into the water and so did Sawamura and Bokuto. They followed Oikawa as he walked through the middle of the river.

“Saw,” Oikawa muttered. He treaded towards the edge of the river. There were no rocks here. He saw a rock too.

“I’m telling you, it’s another UFO,” Bokuto said.

Sawamura rolled his eyes.

Last winter, Oikawa saw something rainbow streak through the pale blue sky of day. He was convinced it was a UFO. He had them running around in snow gear for hours, even stealing his older sister’s fancy calculator to recreate those equations he found online to figure out the trajectory. Awhile later, they heard on the news it was a meteor, not a UFO.

Oikawa got out of the water on the other side of the river, the grass up to his waist and bugs swarming around his face. He had forgotten his bug spray. He always forgot his bug spray.

He pushed aside the grass and followed the river upstream.

“Tooru,” Sawamura said, voice more mature than the rest, “what’s going on?”

“I saw him,” Oikawa finally said, for the first time out loud. “I saw that kid that went missing.”

“I see him too,” Bokuto said. “Every time I walk out of my house. He’s on the telephone pole.”

“What do you mean you saw him?” Kuroo asked.

Oikawa pushed at the grass. It made a thin cut across his palm, which he sucked on as he continued forward.

“I _saw_ him,” Oikawa answered, which wasn’t really an answer, but it was the truth. He saw him.

“What the hell?” Bokuto asked. “Did you finally get drugs? Are you doing drugs without us? Tooru, we promised if any of us got drugs or alcohol, we would try them together!”

“He’s not on drugs,” Sawamura dismissed. “I think.”

“I’m not!” Oikawa said. He brought his hand down, kept pushing at the grass, got another cut.

He pushed the grass and saw a red rock.

The boy was by the river.

The boy was dead.

“Holy  _shit_ ,” Kuroo cursed.

“What the fuck,” Bokuto followed, deadpan.

For a moment, no one moved. They stared at the dead boy. His bright orange hair was red, covered in dirt and mud and blood. Dirt smudged where his smile used to be. His eyes were open and glassy and bugs crawled along his skin. Something had bitten his left arm off at the elbow, or maybe someone had taken it off.

Then Iwaizumi’s hand found Oikawa’s in the thicket of grass. Oikawa didn’t know what to think. His mind had stopped working in complicated terms. It was all so simple.

Palm against palm, warm and real.

Body in the grass, cold and real.

Oikawa almost cried.

“You could have told me,” Iwaizumi said quietly, while Bokuto and Kuroo ran away. “I would have believed you.”

Oikawa swallowed. “I didn’t want to believe me.”

“We need to go get an adult,” Sawamura said from behind, voice unsteady. “Or a lot of adults. That’s the kid that went missing, right? You saw him here. How did you see him, Tooru?”

Iwaizumi looked at him suddenly, looked away from the dead body, like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind until then. He instantly believed that Oikawa saw the boy, was angry that Oikawa did not tell him, but did not stop to think _how_.

Oikawa did not know how. "Let’s go get our parents. They can call the police, right?”

“Yeah,” Sawamura said with a nod.

Iwaizumi looked back at the dead boy.

“Guys!” Bokuto shouted from a distance. “C’mon!”

"Tooru, I'm never following you again!" Kuroo shouted.

“Iwa-chan, let’s go,” Oikawa said, tugging on his hand.

Iwaizumi nodded stiffly and turned.

Oikawa slid his hand free from Iwaizumi’s. Iwaizumi seemed to have forgotten it was there.


	2. Five Years Later

It started with a feeling. It always started with a feeling. Then the feeling became a thought. Was a feeling a thought already? Oikawa didn’t know. He didn’t really care.

He had a feeling.

He felt like he was being watched.

He ignored the feeling.

He shouldn’t have ignored the feeling.

He stuck his toothbrush into his mouth, dancing back in forth in front of the mirror, and sang as he brushed his teeth.

 _“When I’m feeling lonely,_  
_Sad as I can be,_  
_All by myself, an uncharted island_  
_In an endless sea…_

 _“What makes me happy,_  
_Fills me up with glee,_  
_Those bones in my jaw_  
_Don’t have a flaw!_  
_My shiny teeth and me.”_

When he reached the chorus, he looked down to his left at his nephew, who was dancing and humming along as he brushed his teeth. Takeru looked up and smiled, mouth foamy with toothpaste.

Oikawa took out his tooth brush and belted the chorus:

 _“My shiny teeth that twinkle_  
_Just like the stars in space._  
_My shiny teeth that sparkle,_  
_Adding beauty to my face._

 _"My shiny teeth that glisten_  
_Just like a Christmas tree._  
_You know they'd walk a mile_  
_Just to see me smile (Woo!)_  
_My shiny teeth and me!"_

He caught an image of themselves in the mirror, both boys in their underwear, Oikawa still in his glasses as he had yet to put in his contacts, and a humanoid figure in the doorway behind them.

Oikawa screeched and turned. “Iwa-chan!” 

Iwaizumi was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He uncrossed his arms to gesture at them. “Keep going. It’s very entertaining.”

Oikawa flushed red. In a hurry, he explained, “Takeru hates brushing his teeth even though he’s ten now and my sister told me I had to make him brush his teeth or she was holding my Star Wars box set hostage!”

Takeru mimicked his uncle, burning like a red tomato. He always tried very hard to impress Iwaizumi. He may have had a crush, or maybe it was normal hero-worship, the way younger boys often did with older boys. “U-Uncle Tooru insisted he sing the song! I told him I didn’t want to, but he made me!”

Iwaizumi laughed loudly, his voice rough and evened out, though the acne on his face could use a bit more time. He settled back comfortably against the door, seeming content on watching, but said, “They sent me up to let you know we need to head out or we’re going to be late.”

“Bleh, school,” Oikawa said.

“Just hurry up. I don’t want to be late like last year.” Iwaizumi turned and left.

Oikawa ruffled Takeru’s hair. “C’mon, next verse!”  

 

* * *

 

Every year around the time of The Incident, his family was like a pack of overprotective lionesses, even the males. His friends said their families were the same way, like they all thought their children would go crazy because of a date. At least their smothering meant Oikawa got to see his sister and her family, who lived across town.

Downstairs, Oikawa’s family was at the dining room table cleaning up the plates from breakfast while Iwaizumi stood nearby, offering help and being dined.

Iwaizumi had his backpack on now, an old thing from grade school that had a once-bright green Godzilla on it. It was now too small, or his shoulders too broad, and he slung it over one shoulder.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Oikawa’s sister asked Takeru, squatting down to get to eye level.

“Yeah.” Takeru grinned. “Uncle Tooru sang his dumb song.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes as Iwaizumi smiled at him. He grabbed a set of keys off the hook on the wall and his backpack, a properly sized bag with a much more mature pattern, black with silver alien heads.

“See you later!” Oikawa called as he left, Iwaizumi next to him.

It was still warm, the last vestiges of summer lingering before fall took over. Oikawa eagerly counted down the days until the leaves would turn, the air chilled, and they could carve pumpkins for the front porch. He always made his an alien and put a fake candle inside that glowed green. 

They straddled their bikes, not touching the seats as they peddled down the streets to find Kuroo, Bokuto, and Sawamura. They were the only children their age on the street, which meant they had grown up together, getting into trouble the way only kids could. They were inseparable.

Sawamura was furthest down and was leaning against the picket fence surrounding his house as he waited for him. They did not stop or slow down as they passed his house, and Kuroo laughed when Sawamura cursed to hurry and catch up.

The high school was a long, single floored building that was conservatively the size of several football fields. The town had been much larger once, but now it was small. Most of the school rooms went unused if they were not taken over by clubs.

They parked and locked their bikes to the rack in the front. Instead of heading inside, Bokuto stopped dead in his tracks and said, “Whoa, since when is there a new kid?”

The town was small so everyone knew each other, which was good for adults, but boring for kids. It also meant that when a giant of a teenager walked by that they didn’t recognize, it was big news. The boy was tall and Oikawa hung around with the tallest guys in school, with hard lines on his face, a proper solid-colored backpack, and a teacher waiting for him at the front door. 

“I think he moved in the next street over with his aunt and uncle,” Sawamura said. “That old couple that gives out full size candy bars at Halloween.”

“The Ushijima’s?” Kuroo asked.

“I think so,” Sawamura said. “That’s what my mom said, anyways.”

“Why?” Bokuto asked.

“Maybe his parents died,” Oikawa said morbidly, but quiet seriously.

Iwaizumi shoved him. “God, Tooru.”

“He may have been bullied,” Kuroo reasoned. “My friend Kenma said that happens a lot in bigger cities.”

Bokuto went wide-eyed in disbelief. “Would _you_ bully _that_?”

“I’m not a bully,” Kuroo said with a shrug, beginning to walk into the building so they weren’t late for homeroom. “I don’t know what bullies look for.”

“That is the most blatant lie you’ve ever told, Tetsurou,” Oikawa said, walking as well. “You’re the worst.”

“Pot, kettle,” Iwaizumi said.

Kuroo laughed good heartedly and Oikawa gasped in shock, faking offense.

Bokuto ran through the front doors, came to a full stop, fists up in the air, legs spread wide, and shouted, “Senior year, here we come!”

“Detention, here we come,” Sawamura muttered, gently pushing Bokuto on the back so he wasn’t blocking the entrance.

 

* * *

 

In first period—AP Chemistry with Kuroo and Sawamura—Oikawa learned the new student was indeed Ushijima Wakatoshi. The girls were very eager to meet a new boy that they had not known since they were in diapers and flocked to him.

Oikawa had a feeling about Ushijima. Not the fun, tingly feeling most people associated with what went on in the pants of teenage boys, but a _feeling_.

A feeling like soaking in the bath and slowly sliding underneath the surface, the water in your ears muffling the world around you. A feeling like a spider web you didn’t see sticking to your arm. A feeling like you had the word you needed on the tip of your tongue, a word you recognized and knew, but could not remember.

He knew this feeling.

For now, he ignored this feeling.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi needed to get out of town.

Not now, not immediately, but soon.

He felt like he would go insane if he didn’t, if he saw the same faces one more day. They blurred together now, all except a few—Kuroo, Sawamura, Bokuto. Oikawa.

The rest looked like a wash, featureless, eyeless sockets and divots of a mouth colored like skin, no eyebrows or hair. Like a mannequin, he thought once, before the thought eluded him and they all went back to being nameless blurs he could not describe.

Fake smiles, fake feelings, real lives.

He didn’t want a real life full of something fake.

He didn’t know where he would go. There as a city an hour away, but it was small for a city. He could go somewhere larger. He wondered if the faces would blur there too. Only, if he left to go to another place, he would be left without the familiar faces—Kuroo, Sawamura, Bokuto.

_Oikawa._

His classmates spent all day talking about what schools they were applying too. They weren’t dumb, but they were from a no-name school in a no-name place doing no-name things. There was a college in the city, the one an hour away. Most people went and came back, but Iwaizumi didn’t want to come back.

Kuroo, Sawamura, Bokuto. Oikawa.

He would stay, for now.

 

* * *

 

“How are you doing?” Dr. Irihata asked.

Oikawa sat on the other side of the table, fiddling the ends of his finger nails. The office smelled like mint from the plants on the windowsill. Chocolate mint, peppermint, spearmint, mojito mint. The smells blurred into _mint._ It smelled pale green like his favorite milkshake.

“When you were young,” Dr. Irihata said, “you used to get very upset this time of year. I’m glad to see that’s not the case anymore.”

“I am worried about school,” Oikawa admitted. “New schedule, new classes. That kind of stuff. But I know I’ll adjust like I always do and I’ll do fine like I always do.”

“You do have excellent grades,” Dr. Irihata said, smiling. “Have you thought about applying to colleges yet?”

Oikawa knew the brochures his guidance counselor had handed him like his own skin. A freckle was too much. A scar was a safety school. The number of moles on his stomach was the number of schools with affordable astrophysics programs he liked—that was, three.  Two on his right hip right next to each other, another beneath his left ribs very, very far away.

“Yeah,” Oikawa answered. “A bit.”

“What about your friends? Are you all going to try to go to the same school?”

“We’ve talked about it, but…” Oikawa shrugged. “Tetsurou is doing two independent studies to take AP classes so he can try and buff up his resume for his reach schools. I think Daichi wants to go to the city over, same as Koutarou. Iwa-chan hasn’t talked to me about it.”

“I think it’d be good for you to go to school together—having some sort of familiarity—but don’t narrow your options. You’ve come a long way from when you first walked into my office five years ago. I'm sure you'll make great friends wherever you go."

His anxiety was better.

The anxiety that started because he saw and found a dead boy. 

“I remember being excited looking at all the catalogues,” Dr. Iriharata said with a gruff laugh. “Guess I was a bit of a nerd.”

Oikawa thought of the brochures he knew he like his own skin. He was excited, too.

 

* * *

 

At the end of the week, Michimiya approached Oikawa’s table at lunch. Kuroo kicked Sawamura under the table and when he looked up, Michimiya turned red. It was so obvious it was amusing. Everyone but Sawamura knew. Oikawa wondered if he was that obvious, if everyone but Iwaizumi knew.

“Yukie’s parents are out of town this weekend,” Michimiya said, “and we’re going to hold a party at her place tomorrow night to welcome Ushijima. You’re all invited.”

“Will there be booze?” Bokuto asked.

“Maybe?” Michimiya said, looking unsure but not bothered by the prospect of alcohol. “Probably not. We’re thinking of starting a pizza fund, if you want to contribute.”

“Text us the details,” Sawamura said. “We’ll be there.”

Michimiya smiled and skipped off, her skirt floating behind her. Sawamura looked but didn’t seem affected.

“Why do you always ask if there’s alcohol?” Iwaizumi asked with a shake of his head.

“Because it’s senior year and we have yet to have alcohol,” Bokuto said. “According to all the movies and books, we should have had alcohol by now.”

“Movies and books aren’t always real,” Oikawa pointed out. "You can't trust what you see on TV."

“Says the guy with an alien fetish,” Kuroo said. 

“It’s not a fetish!” Oikawa screeched.

“You told me that if they probed you, you wouldn’t care,” Kuroo said.

Iwaizumi laughed and Oikawa's heart fluttered. "Seriously, Tooru?"

“It’s not sexual!” Oikawa said, a bit louder, which made a few people give him strange looks.

“Are you telling me that if ET walked through that door right now, you wouldn’t suck his dick?” Bokuto asked. “Because we all know that’s bullshit.”

“ET doesn’t have a dick, Koutarou,” Oikawa said.

“So, yes,” Kuroo concluded. “But on the assumption that said dick exists.”

"Oh my _God_ ," Oikawa groaned, resting his head on the table. 

 

* * *

 

Shirofuku Yukie lived in a large house at the edge of town. She drove to school in a fancy car, dropping off her group of girl friends (with the space and without, depending on the week). She had horses at her tenth birthday party and it had been the talk of the town for years. Even though she was rich, she was cool the few times Sawamura hung out with her.

The house was bumping with music that vibrated into their bones and threatened to shake their chains off their bikes as they approached. There were no neighbors around to complain. Sawamura was about to bet Iwaizumi that if they looked around back at the pool, it would be shaking like that scene in Jurassic Park.

They dropped their bikes in the grass without a place to prop them and headed to the front door. They rang the doorbell to be pleasant, not surprised when no one heard it over the music, then let themselves in. Sawamura dropped a few dollars in the mason jar labeled ‘pizza fund’ that was by the door.

Sawamura never really liked parties. He liked the people, like the food, liked the music, but putting them all together made the events insufferable. But Michimiya had invited them personally and he would not turn her down.

Besides, it was for a new kid, who had to be having a hell of a time making friends. It was hard to find where you belonged in a place where everyone knew where they belonged from the time they were in diapers. 

The house was full of half empty bags of chips, bottles of expensive soda made from real cane sugar, and most of their graduating class. Kuroo and Bokuto immediately went to go see if the punch had been spiked (it had not) while Oikawa began to open closets in search of board games.

At some point, Sawamura lost Oikawa and Iwaizumi, and found himself ordering pizza with Shirofuku, Michimiya, and Ushijima in a locked bathroom. They all sat crammed on the edge of the tub except for Shirofuku, who sat on the toilet with her laptop. Ushijima dutifully counted the money from the mason jar by the front door. 

It was not the weirdest thing to happen at one of Shirofuku's parties. 

"Get two pepperoni," Michimiya said. "And something vegetarian besides cheese. Cheese is boring."

"I like cheese," Ushijima said.

"Me too," Sawamura agreed.

"And we'll get cheese," Michimiya assured. "But some people like to have fun."

Sawamura nudged her with his elbow and she nudged back, pushing him into Ushijima.

"What about onion? I like onion," Shirofuku said. "I'm getting a sausage and onion. I'll eat it myself if I have to."

"How much are we tipping?" Sawamura asked.

"I'm paying for tip myself," Shirofuku said. "At least thirty percent. This is a big order. Ohh, _cheesy crust_."

"Yukie, control yourself," Michimiya said. "Stick to the mission."

Shirofuku nodded seriously.

Sawamura smiled. Ushijima handed him the bills to count and see if they got the same thing.

"Oh my god," Shirofuku said suddenly. "Do you guys actually know each other?"

"We're in Chemistry together," Ushijima said. "You're Sawamura, correct?"

"Yup."

"Nice to meet you."

Sawamura smiled. "You too."

 

* * *

 

Oikawa felt like he was watching a bad movie. When Kuroo grabbed one wrist and Bokuto grabbed the other, yanking him down, he was suddenly in the bad movie. Iwaizumi was captured by the ankle. Sawamura somehow managed to avoid them, sitting with Shimizu and Michimiya on the couch. 

They sat in a circle on Shirofuku’s floor with an empty two-liter bottle of coke. Ushijima was there, flanked by two girls and looking frighteningly confused, like a deer in headlights that was about to be hit by a semi-truck. Oikawa wondered what his guts would look like. He shook that thought away.

“When you spin the bottle, you have to go into the closet for a minute and kiss,” Shirofuku explained, “or you have get naked and jump in the pool. The heater’s busted, if that affects anything.”

Oikawa spun the bottle three rounds in. Oikawa went in to the closet and gently kissed one of the girls sitting next to Ushijima and the whole time all he could think was that he was glad it had not landed on Ushijima. He looked like he’d be a rough kisser. He wished it had landed on Iwaizumi, who would probably cross his arms and say that this was absurd, and maybe Oikawa would have the courage to kiss him in the dark. 

Iwaizumi spun next and it landed on Shirofuku. The two disappeared into the closet.

“Has Hajime ever kissed a girl?” Kuroo asked.

Bokuto’s eyes went wide like an owl. Oikawa wondered if his head would spin around or snap and break if he tried.

“Hajime’s having his first kiss,” Bokuto said, sounding far too invested in the statement. “I hope he knows what to do.”

Oikawa huffed. “It’s not hard. I’m sure even Iwa-chan can figure it out.”

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about Iwaizumi’s hands on some girl’s waist, his lips on her lips, his furrowed because he’s confused and doesn’t know what to do.

The boys snickered and laughed and then the minute was over. Iwaizumi came out, now a man that had been kissed in the dark closet by a pretty girl, and Kuroo and Bokuto cheered. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes as he sat back down next to Oikawa.

“This is stupid,” Iwaizumi said.

Oikawa only knew Iwaizumi was blushing because he had spent, collectively, several hours staring at Iwaizumi’s face. 

“Did you know what to do?” Bokuto asked.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “I knew what to do!”

Kuroo went next and the bottle landed on Bokuto, and the two kissed out in the open, laughing the entire time and being over dramatic with their groping hands.

A few rounds later, Ushijima spun the bottle, but refused to go into the closet. The whole thing seemed counterproductive to Oikawa.

“I do not want to kiss someone I don’t know,” Ushijima said flatly.

Kuroo and Bokuto grinned at once.

“Pool, pool, pool,” Kuroo and Bokuto chanted softly, then grew in volume.

“I also do not want to jump into a pool,” Ushijima said, looking at Kuroo and Bokuto, who were still chanting at a moderate volume.

“Naked,” Oikawa added smartly.

“Naked,” Ushijima repeated.

“Well, that’s the rule,” Shirofuku said. “I don’t make them.”

“I thought you did?” Ushijima asked innocently.

“But you don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Shirofuku went on. “No one’s going to make you.”

“Thank you,” Ushijima said.

Kuroo and Bokuto quieted, looking very dejected.

“If you two want to see someone jump in the pool so badly, why don’t you do it?” Sawamura asked from the sofa.

“Why,” Bokuto said, immediately followed by Kuroo, “that’s a great idea!”

They jumped to their feet and approached the sofa. Shimizu and Michimiya moved away from Sawamura. 

“Oh, no,” Sawamura said as they each grabbed one of his arms and stood. “No, no, no! Damn it, let me go!”

Everyone followed the three as Kuroo and Bokuto dragged Sawamura out to the back yard to the uncovered pool. They tossed in Sawamura first then Kuroo and Bokuto jumped in, dunking Sawamura’s head back under.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi stood at the edge of the pool with Ushijima, who Oikawa had yet to greet. 

“I’m Oikawa Tooru."

“I know who you are,” Ushijima said flatly. “We’re in Chemistry and Mythology together.”

“I’m being _nice_ ,” Oikawa snapped.

Ushijima looked confused. “As am I.”

“He gets offended by the stars,” Iwaizumi said. “Don’t mind him.”

“ _Excuse me_ , Iwa-chan, the stars are _wonderful_ and would never offend _anyone_.”

Iwaizumi smiled, hopefully at Oikawa and not Ushijima, then stuck out his hand. “I’m Iwaizumi. We don’t have any classes together.”

Ushijima shook his hand firmly. “Ushijima.”

They looked out at the pool where Kuroo, Bokuto, and Sawmura had surfaced. They were splashing each other and smiling, and Oikawa wondered if he should jump in too.

Iwaizumi made the decision for him when he hooked an arm around Oikawa’s waist and jumped towards the pool. Oikawa squealed as he was submerged in cool water. His ears rang then the world muffled. Up and down disappeared. His lungs strained as air leaked out his mouth and water crawled up his nose. He was weightless, the world free from his shoulders, his mind a fuzzy blur.

He kicked and met the resistance of the water then went up, up, up, resurfacing to a louder world.

He laughed, happy.

 

* * *

 

Thoughts, Oikawa realized, were different than feelings.

Feelings were like shadows lurking in the corner. You didn’t look at them, didn’t want to acknowledge them, but they were there with sharp teeth and red eyes and creeping fingers like the shadows of trees at night.

Thoughts were much harder to ignore, at least for him.

Thoughts were the shadows that attacked and did not let go.

What would a pencil feel like stabbing through a neck? he thought in Chemistry while looking at the back of Kuroo’s head.

What sound would Daichi make if he choked? he thought during lunch as Kuroo talked about a crazy plan for his AP Physics experiment.

What would happen if he kicked Koutarou off his bike? he thought on the ride home from school.

He felt awful. He wanted to hollow out his insides and crawl inside and disappear inside himself. He wanted to stop feeling the layers of his body and wondering which layer was bone, which was muscle, which was the skin that so easily tore.

He knew the thoughts were not normal. They were like that feeling prickling under his skin, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. 

He asked his mother to make him another appoint with Dr. Irihata.

She frowned when he asked but nodded. “How soon is okay? Is it an emergency?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Just within the next two weeks would be nice. I just want to talk. I'm having bad thoughts again."

"How bad?" she asked hesitantly.

"Not hurt myself bad," he clarified. 

“Just checking, dear. How about we order out tonight? Would that help? We can watch Star Wars again.”

He nodded and smiled.

 

* * *

 

The group Ushijima sat with at lunch suddenly stopped sitting with him.

“We should invite him to sit with us,” Sawamura said.

No, Oikawa wanted to say because that feeling was still there, but he said nothing. No one objected. Something sour knotted in Oikawa’s stomach when Sawamura returned with Ushijima.

As they approached, Ushijima said, “I think I offended them,” with a downward tilt of his lips, like a creature that didn’t know human emotion attempting a frown.

“We don’t get offended that easily,” Sawamura joked good-heartedly, making space for Ushijima to sit between him and Bokuto.

“So what’s your Hogwarts house?” Kuroo asked.

“Tetsurou,” Iwaizumi said.

“ _Fine_ ,” Kuroo sighed with a grin. “Just tell us all your hopes and fears, Ushijima.”

“I’m very confused,” Ushijima said.

“Welcome to our world,” Iwaizumi grumbled.

Oikawa snorted into his hand. The sound bubbled into laughter he could not control.

“I’m Bokuto. Don’t think we met.”

“You hugged me when you were soaking wet.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“So Tetsurou and I are in this group text for Chemistry with a few others,” Sawamura interrupted, saving them from the burning flames of that train wreck. “We can add you, if you want. It’s mostly Tetsurou correcting us.”

“That would be helpful,” Ushijima said.

“Cool. Give me your number.” Sawamura took out his phone and Ushijima took out his.

Later that night, when Oikawa received a text from Bokuto then another from an unknown number, he realized Sawamura had also added Ushijima to _their_ group text. Oikawa scowled at the phone and Ushijima’s message.

_Who is this and why are you asking about putting goldfish on peanut butter sandwiches?_

Oikawa replied:

_We are culinary gods come to earth to save your human palates._

Seconds later, Iwaizumi sent him a text separately:

_I swear to GOD if that was an alien joke_

 

* * *

 

Kuroo crawled up into the treehouse in his backyard. He was two feet too tall to comfortably duck inside and the boards creaked ominously as he settled down, wondering if they would break and he would fall. There were still candy wrappers they never took out, an old lantern that had long since died, and a few comic books. On the wooden planks were names scratched out in bad handwriting. He ran his hand along the carved presence fondly, remembering the day they wrote them out.

In the corner, there was a metal box. It was as large as a shoe box. It was locked shut with a spinning combination lock. Kuroo still remembered the number to unlock it, the date they found the body.

They were morbid kids.

Inside were photos of them at the lake, faded and torn, and scraps of papers—their wills that they promised to uphold should they ever die like that boy, signed with a bloody finger print.

Kuroo flipped through them, seeing that he wanted everything to go to Kenma, who lived the city over; Kuroo had moved away when he was five. Oikawa left his belongings to the aliens, Bokuto to Kuroo, Sawamura equally to them all, and Iwaizumi, who claimed he had nothing but they were welcome to anything.

Kuroo leaned against the wall of the tree house, stretched his legs out as much as he could, and read his childhood will over and over.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa awoke with a start, clutching his sheets and gasping as sweat dripped down his temple.

It was different than a feeling.

It was different than a thought.

 

* * *

 

“You think,” Bokuto said, climbing out his bedroom window onto the slopped roof, “that after all this time, the ER would have memorized our insurance information.”

Kuroo snorted. He cradled his broken arm, a memento of a science experiment on the school roof gone wrong. They had all signed the hard, red cast, even Ushijima, who stood inside Bokuto’s bedroom and said out the window, “That does not look safe!”

“We do it all the time!” Oikawa called back from outside. “We have been since we were six.”

“We’ve only fallen a couple of times,” Bokuto said, grinning.

“It’s a rite of passage!” Kuroo said.

“Ignore them,” Sawamura said, patting Ushijima on the back then crawling out himself. “You don’t have to come out if you’re afraid of heights.”

It wasn’t that high, Oikawa thought, walking towards the edge of the roof that overlooked Bokuto’s backyard. It was only the second story. It was dark and the porch lights were off, and the grass looked like a black sea below.

“I’m _not_ afraid,” Ushijima said.

“Then come out,” Iwaizumi said, leaving the bedroom to join them on the roof. He sat next to Kuroo, who was grinning as well. Ushijima was the only one still inside.

Oikawa walked back to the window, leaned back into the room, and tilted his head. He put on a shit-eating-grin and said, “Aw, Wakatoshi, you’re scared of _heights_.”

Ushijima pushed Oikawa’s shoulder, hard enough to get him to move but not hard enough to send him flying off the roof, and then climbed out. Bokuto clapped and Kuroo stomped his feet. Ushijima promptly sat as close to the dormer window as he could.

Oikawa sat on the edge, letting his feet dangle, and lied back to stare up at the autumn sky.

“I don’t see how this is fun,” Ushijima said, pulling his knees to his chest.

“We were never allowed to play catch in the house, but our parents never said anything about _on_ the house,” Kuroo said wickedly. “I was a smart-ass back then, too.”

“I bet he popped out of his mom and said a pun,” Bokuto said.

Kuroo grimaced. “Dude. Let’s not talk about my birth or anything that puts me in such close proximity to my mother’s vagina.”

Iwaizumi snorted. Oikawa laughed loudly.

“We used to come up here with Tooru’s telescope, too, but he donated it to the school for his Astronomy Club,” Sawamura said. “Now it’s just a place we like. We wanted to show it to you.”

“Thank you,” Ushijima said seriously.

Iwaizumi knocked their shoulders together and smiled. They all did.

 

* * *

 

They rode their bikes down the street until disembarking, walking the rest of the way with Ushijima, who lived closer to the school and walked. One morning, Ushijima’s aunt and uncle saw them out the window. The next, Ushijima asked, “Did you find a dead body when you were young?”

Iwaizumi looked over at Oikawa, who adjusted the straps of his backpack. Iwaizumi could still remember grabbing Oikawa’s hand and not wanting to let go. It had been the only thing keeping him sane in that moment. He wondered if Oikawa would let him hold his hand now like he had back then, when it was innocent friendship and nothing more. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo said, nonchalant. “We’re the Dead Body Club. No applications, please.” 

“My aunt and uncle told me not to hang around you,” Ushijima said matter-of-factly. “They said you would bring me bad luck.”

“I think finding a body that the cops couldn’t find requires very _good_ luck,” Bokuto said.

“Koutarou,” Sawamura warned. “C’mon.”

“I do not believe in good or bad luck,” Ushijima said. “I told them as such. I do not think you will be welcome over, though.”

 

* * *

 

Bokuto texted the group at two in the morning:

_I bet Elmo is a Gryffindor_

At six in the morning, Kuroo replied:

_Those are fighting words_

Sawamura replied next at seven:

_Please stop talking about which Hogwarts house Elmo is in_

Ushijima followed:

_Is this a common issue?_

Sawamura and Iwaizumi replied at the same time:

_YES_

_Still not as bad as when Tooru tried to sort ET_

Oikawa added on:

 _Am I allowed to talk about that again Iwa-chan?_   

The responses from all of them (sans Ushijima) were immediate:

_No._

_NEVER_

_STOP IT_

_Nope_

 

* * *

 

“What’d you want to show me?” Bokuto asked as he followed Kuroo into the treehouse.

It was hard enough climbing up with two good arms, let alone when one was in the cast. Kuroo was panting with effort by the time he made it up and settled down. Bokuto crawled in after him, looking around and smiling widely, like a kid a Christmas. It had been two years since they decommissioned the treehouse.

Kuroo didn’t admit that he came up there and thought sometimes, that he tried to work out details they had been too young to see at the time, that he dreamt of how things could have turned out differently if he had just been smarter back then.

“Whoa,” Bokuto said, looking at the cork board. The string and maps and pictures were gone, but the board was still there. They spent hours up in there planning and mapping and thinking.

They had been playing detective then.

“I think I want to be a forensic analyst,” Kuroo said suddenly.

Bokuto sat across from him. “Yeah? ‘Cause of all the crap, or for other reasons?”

“A little of both. I wanted to know if it was crazy.”

Bokuto shrugged. “No crazier than all the other shit we’ve done.”

Kuroo smiled. He reached over and pushed the metal box towards Bokuto, who instantly unlocked it.

“Our wills,” Bokuto said wistfully. “Man, we were fucked up, weren’t we?”

Kuroo tilted his head back against the wall. “I miss it.”

“The therapy? That sucked. Ask Tooru and he’ll tell you it _still_ sucks.”

“Just being together,” Kuroo said. “Running around. Getting in trouble.”

“Ew, dude. It’s still fall semester. Don’t get sappy about graduating until spring.”

Kuroo laughed. “Yeah, okay.”

 

* * *

 

Bokuto’s room was a mess. He didn’t bother tidying up as his friends piled in to work on homework and mess around. They had plans to dick around, not do any work, then order pizza and hole up in front of the large TV in the basement to watch badly dubbed karate movies. 

His bedroom smelled like popcorn and the pine tree out front that flanked his window. They took their usual places—Bokuto in a bean bag, Kuroo on the bed, Iwaizumi and Oikawa together on the floor, and Sawamura near the closet. Ushijima took the last bit of free space on the floor that wasn’t covered in questionably dirty clothes near the bed.

Oikawa leaned his head semi-comfortably against Iwaizumi’s back, cheek squished up towards his eyes as he read a book for whatever literature class he was taking that semester. Iwaizumi hardly minded, staring down at his math homework like he wanted to punch it.

They were all friends, but Iwaizumi and Oikawa had always been _Iwaizumi and Oikawa_.

“Shit,” Kuroo cursed. “My pencil rolled away. Ushijima, can you grab it? There’s not enough space for my hand to fit.”

“That’s what she said,” Bokuto said as he scrolled through his facebook feed on his laptop. He looked up at Kuroo, who had tossed aside Bokuto’s comforter and was trying to shove his good hand between the wall and the bed to reach down. Even if he got past his palm, the forearm would give him trouble.

Ushijima made a small noise then shifted to his hands and knees, then crawled under the bed. Bokuto took a picture of him for Shirofuku. Sawamura saw Bokuto take out his phone and mouthed, “Why the hell,” but no one seemed to notice.

Ushijima came back out with a head of dust, Kuroo's pencil, and a cardboard box.

“Thanks, it’s my favorite pencil,” Kuroo said. Then, “Whoa, did you get more skin mags, Koutarou?”

Everyone looked over. Oikawa lifted his head off of Iwaizumi’s shoulder and made a noise like a cat, and then proceeded to crawl over on his hands and knees.

“Wait,” Oikawa said, “isn’t that our box of evidence?”

“Evidence?” Ushijima asked dubiously.

“Holy shit,” Iwaizumi cursed, standing up and looking down into the box. “I forgot about all of this.”

Oikawa began to pull items out of the box—a map of the town with red sharpie circles and X’s, pictures, newspaper clippings, and a spiral notebook labeled ‘classified.’

“When we found Hinata, the boy by the river, the body,” Sawamura said, fumbling over the right term to use for Ushijima to understand while being respectful to the dead, “we wanted to figure out who did it. We were obsessed.”

“Our parents were already sending us to therapy, but we got an extended stay when they found that cork board in the treehouse with all that string,” Kuroo said. "They made us take everything down. I had no idea you still had it, Koutarou."

“That is… very disturbing,” Ushijima said uncomfortably. “You were children investigating a potential murder. I agree with your parents’ decision for therapy.”

There was a moment of pause.

“Should we tell him?” Kuroo asked. “And I am aware that by asking that, we’re going to tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Ushijima asked.

“How fucked up we really are,” Bokuto replied with a grin.

“Don’t _scare_ him,” Iwaizumi snapped quickly. “God, he probably thinks we’re psychotic already.”

“Remember when you were afraid of pushing us away?” Sawamura joked good-heartedly.

“What are you talking about?” Ushijima asked.

Oikawa was carefully holding a picture of the dead boy, the yearbook picture of him from the year before he died.

“Every year,” Oikawa said, “we hold a séance and talk to him.”

Ushijima blinked.

“Excuse me?” Ushijima said.

“We’ve done it every year on Halloween night,” Kuroo said. “We have this Ouija board. We go to an abandoned house that was condemned for, like, safety reasons and talk to him. It helped at first when were kids. Now it’s just a tradition.”

“It still helps,” Oikawa murmured.

Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa and only Oikawa.

“You can come,” Bokuto offered. “We usually egg a few houses on the way.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Ushijima said.

“It’s not about _believing_ ,” Oikawa said, glaring at Ushijima. “It’s about _Hinata Shouyou_. We’re the only ones who haven’t forgotten him besides his family.”

“I don’t think believing in ghosts is wrong,” Ushijima said, just to be clear, but Oikawa still seemed bitter about the statement. “I just do not understand because I was not there when you found him.”

“Most people don’t understand,” Oikawa replied. He carefully began to put the things back into the box.

“Let’s order pizza!” Bokuto said, knowing that would draw their attention away from the heavy seriousness that had begun to settle. It worked.

 

* * *

 

It was different than a feeling.

It was different than a thought.

It was a fact.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi knew something was wrong with Oikawa, who was not nearly as excited about Astronomy Club as he should have been.

On the bike ride to the school for the late night club, Oikawa was always unbearable. He spoke and spoke about the stars and the planets, and Iwaizumi loved the dopey look on his face, the spark in his voice, the way he tossed his hands up into the air and looked up at the sky like he wanted to be picked up and flown off.

Tonight, though, he hadn’t said a word.  

The sun had crept down beyond the horizon, the sky frosting purple with sprinkled stars. The leaves had fallen and the moonlight shone through the naked branches, the shadows crisscrossing the worn-out pavement in front of them. The air was cool and smelled crisp even though air should not smell like a texture.

It looked like a dream, but didn’t feel like one.

“Are you okay?” Iwaizumi asked.

“Iwa-chan!” His smile was fake. His tone was annoying. He swerved and nearly went into the grass. He looked like a mannequin in that moment, like everyone else, not like Oikawa. “I’m so glad you care about me after all!”

“I’m serious.”

Oikawa’s fake smile faltered. He looked real, now.

“I’m okay," Oikawa said. "Really."

“I’m here if you want to talk, or whatever.”

“I didn’t know you could talk, so that’s good to know!”

“Hey.”

“Thanks, Iwa-chan!"

Oikawa smiled at him over his shoulder and it suddenly felt like a dream.

 

* * *

 

Blood pooled against the tiled kitchen floor like a thick slug slowly extending its body. Oikawa’s cheek was cool against the tile, then warm and wet as the blood reached his skin, then he felt nothing at all. He still saw though. Saw knees hitting the floor, shoes backing away, his own face as he reached down and cupped his face and looked into his eyes and—

It wasn’t his body on the floor.

Not a feeling, not a thought, a _fact._

 

* * *

 

“How did you find the body?” Ushijima asked as they headed home one day.

Iwaizumi moved his bike closer to Oikawa, just an inch.

“Tooru did,” Sawamura said.  

“How?” Ushijima asked. “By accident?”

Kuroo shrugged. “Pretty much. Our therapists called it apophenia. It’s the tendency to see patterns in unrelated things. Tooru had a nightmare and coincidently, his nightmare was similar to reality.”

“Like a psychic,” Bokuto said, “but not a psychic ‘cause psychics aren’t real.”

 

* * *

 

Ushijima Wakatoshi was going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working on the last two chapters, but I'm hoping they'll be done by Halloween. I'd like to actually post them on the 31st if I can!


	3. Halloween Night

They crammed into Kuroo’s room an hour before they were to head out and perform the séance. Ushijima was there with them, like he was meant to be there, like he had always been there. But he hadn’t been there. He hadn’t seen the body.

Oikawa kept glancing at him, wondering why he would want to come to the séance of a dead boy he did not know, wondering why Ushijima Wakatoshi was going to die, wondering how, _when_.

The questions were too simple—death was too simple.

How? The blood fled his body.

When? When the blood the fled his body.

Why? The blood fleeing his body.

He looked away from Ushijima to the rest of his friends.

“Supply check,” Sawamura said from his spot on the bed.

“Duffle bag,” Bokuto announced. “A dozen rolls of one-ply toilet paper, six egg cartons with a dozen eggs each, pre-made apology notes with contact information for after-trick cleanup, and four bags of emergency candy.”

“How can you have an emergency that requires candy?” Ushijima asked. “Are any of you diabetic?”

“Dude,” Bokuto said flatly. “Who hurt you?”

“Back pack number one,” Kuroo said, moving on. “Six flashlights with new batteries, half a dozen spare batteries, a camping lantern with batteries, a pocket knife, bolt cutters, and a lock picking set.”

“Lock picking?” Ushijima asked. “Pocket knife? Bolt cutters?”

“The house we go into is condemned,” Kuroo said, shrugging. “Sometimes it’s locked up. Gotta be prepared when you’re breaking and entering.”

“You can back out,” Oikawa said, with a shit eating grin that would make Kuroo proud, “if you’re _scared_.”

“I’m not scared. I merely do not wish to break the law,” Ushijima clarified.

“You don’t have to come,” Sawamura said, voice friendlier than Oikawa’s, an honest out if he wanted it.

“I’m coming,” Ushijima said.

Iwaizumi grinned almost proudly and said, “Back pack number two. One Ouija board in the box with the planchette, a dozen vanilla candles from Tooru’s bathroom, a box of matches, and another two bags of emergency candy.”

“What about the radio?” Oikawa asked. “It’s not in my bag.”

Kuroo got up and dug around in his closet for a crummy battery-powered radio with an antenna and handed it to Iwaizumi, who checked the batteries then added it to his bag.

“Why a radio?” Ushijima asked.

“In case Hinata wants to talk to us,” Bokuto said simply.

“Right,” Ushijima said, like that clearly made no sense but he did not want to say so.

 

* * *

 

Sawamura loved Halloween night.

As a child, he loved dressing up in costumes and going trick or treating. He loved the fake cobwebs, and scary movies on TV that they would sit around and watch from their sleeping bags in the basement of Bokuto’s house, surrounded by their sweet spoils. He loved how the air smelled of leaves and caramel, and he loved the chill that danced along his skin like an icy spider.

He even loved their creepy, messed up séance.

The year after they found the boy, Hinata, they were inconsolable. It messed them up, as one would expect. Seeing a body with missing limbs around their age was the stuff of nightmares. Bokuto’s idea to try and talk to Hinata, to try and make peace, helped more than therapy (though that certainly helped too).

Sawamura didn’t know if it helped anymore, but he knew he had to do it. They all did.

They rode their bikes slowly down the middle of the streets where no cars drove, Ushijima perched on the back of Sawamura’s bike, his hands firm on Sawamura’s shoulders. Kuroo and Bokuto rode out front, swerving back and forth because they could not dance, singing loudly:

 _“I was working in the lab late one night_  
_When my eyes beheld an eerie sight,_  
_When my monster, from its slab, began to rise,_  
_And suddenly to my surprise_

_“He did the Mash, he did the Monster Mash,_  
_And it's a graveyard smash._  
_He did the Mash, it caught on in a flash._  
_He did the Mash, he did the Monster Mash.”_

Oikawa said something to Iwaizumi, who laughed wildly.

Bokuto stopped singing abruptly, saying, “Hey, that’s Mr. Ukai’s house!”

Their history teacher, whom Sawamura actually _liked_ , but the rest were already stopping and getting off their bikes. Sawamura was more careful when he slowed, still getting used to having someone riding shotgun.

“Why are we stopping?” Ushijima asked.

Sawamura smiled as they got off the bike. The others were already gathered around Bokuto, who was taking out two cartons of eggs and an apology note, which Iwaizumi ran up and stuck to the front door.

“What’s on that piece of paper?” Ushijima asked.

“Our contact information,” Sawamura said, “and a note saying if they want us to clean up or repaint the door, just call us and we’ll do it for free.”

“How considerate,” Ushijima said in his flat voice, and Sawamura didn’t know if it was meant to be a joke or an honest admiration.

Kuroo, who was unable to hold a carton of eggs with his broken arm, stood close to Iwaizumi to share a carton. He picked up an egg, tossed it up and caught it, then slammed it against the front door.

“Nice one!” Iwaizumi said.

“It was alright,” Oikawa said. “Not as good as _this_.” He hit the numbers on the door dead on.

Ushijima’s eyes widened. Sawamura laughed.

Iwaizumi tossed three eggs in quick session like machine at a batting cage.

The curtain pushed aside and Mr. Ukai spotted them. The old man saw Sawamura and Ushijima. Sawamura waved, Ushijima following hesitantly. The old man sighed, closed the curtain, and didn’t say anything. This was not the first time he had been a victim of their Halloween antics.

They unloaded two dozen eggs before Kuroo and Bokuto seemed satisfied.

They got back on their bikes and headed out.

 

* * *

 

It felt like before.

It felt like five years ago.

Oikawa’s hands were clammy and frightful thoughts flashed through his mind—a knife twisting in his gut, how he could feel the knife as it was pulled out and tossed aside, the juxtaposition of the cold tile on his face and the warm blood on his hands, the hollow feeling as his lungs stopped obeying his brain and stopped. 

Only it was not him. It was not his body, not his hands, not his blood.

Ushijima Wakatoshi was going to die.

“There it is,” Iwaizumi announced for Ushijima’s sake as they rolled to a stop.

Oikawa’s head snapped up and he stopped just inches before ramming into the fence.

At the top of the hill, at the end of a windy road, sat the house that looked like black rook against the cotton candy sky. It was an old Victorian house with sharp edges and once-bright colors that had now faded and dulled to more somber siblings. The grass was overgrown and crept along the chain-link fence that surrounded the large property and there was no sign of life.

It was like a horror movie, but it did not scare Oikawa. His thoughts were far scarier at the moment. His thoughts would put a horror movie to shame.

They chained their bikes to the fence then approached the gate, which was unlocked.

“Aw, man,” Bokuto said, “I wanted to use the bolt cutters.”

Iwaizumi snorted.

Why was the tile so familiar? He tried to remember, the same way he tried to remember the grass and rock all those years ago. It was like a word on the tip of his tongue. He knew. He knew where that kitchen was, where that tile belonged.

Why couldn’t he remember?

They walked through the front hallway, through an arch, and settled in the living room. The furniture was covered in dust and cobwebs. They quickly set out candles, lighting them throughout the room before setting up the radio behind them and taking out the Ouija board.

It was a simple, cheap Ouija board with the alphabet, numbers from zero to nine, and the words ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Decorative black designs that were meant to look like smoke looked more like smudges, or like someone spilled their coffee. They had pooled together their allowance and bought it years ago.

They set it on the ground and sat around it, crammed together so they would all be able to reach the planchette.

“How does this work?” Ushijima asked, harsh lines of his face more prominent in the candle light.

“You put your fingers on the planchette—that wedge-thing there—and ask questions,” Bokuto said. “The planchette moves to the answers, or spells something out.”

Oikawa reached for the planchette. They looked at Oikawa, who frowned. Did he have something in his teeth?

“What?” Oikawa asked.

“You didn’t say it,” Iwaizumi said, frowning as well.

Oikawa put on a large smile, took his hands back and shook them out, and then put his fingers gently on the planchette. “I trust all of you.”

“There it is,” Kuroo said, smiling and adding his hands to the planchette.

One by one, they all followed, bending their elbows to strange angles and reaching to put the tips of their fingers on the planchette without obstructing the view of the circle. Their fingers were longer and thicker than they had been years ago, and their forearms posed the same difficulty. It would be so easy to grab one of their fingers, snap it back, hear them scream.

Fuck. He hated those thoughts.

They looked at each other then down at the board.

Kuroo exhaled, asked, “Is anyone here with us?”

Nothing then slowly, the planchette moved.

‘Yes.’

Ushijima looked skeptical at best. Oikawa wanted to tell him to just leave if he was going to disrespect this, if he was going to mock what they did for closure. He wasn’t there when they found the boy, didn’t understand what it was like to live with that.

No one else seemed to mind Ushijima’s presence so Oikawa kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t going to disturb this ritual of theirs and screw it all up because he had a feeling.

No, not a feeling.

He knew.

Just like he knew five years ago.

“Do you know who we are?” Sawamura asked.

The plancette moved off of yes then circled back. ‘Yes.’

“Do you want to talk to us?” Bokuto asked.

‘Yes.’

“Are you…” Oikawa swallowed. “Are you at peace?”

The plancette circled off yes but when Oikawa tried to move it back to yes, it jerked.

‘No.’

Someone clearly forgot to tell Ushijima that they all pushed the planchette towards the good answers. They never told each other they moved it, never agreed upon it, but it was what they did and they all understood that without saying it. Year after year, it gave them solace.

They all looked at each other, each clearly unamused.

Oikawa asked again. “Are you at peace?”

Circled.

‘No.’

“Okay, Ushijima,” Kuroo said, voice deep, “just to clue you in: we move it to the _good_ answers.”

Ushijima frowned. “I’m not moving it.”

“Liar,” Oikawa grumbled. “We wouldn’t do this. You’re the only one who doesn’t understand what this is about!”

Ushijima took his hands off. “I was not moving it.”

“Are you at peace?” Iwaizumi asked irritably.

‘No.’

Iwaizumi growled. “Who the hell is doing this—“

They took their hands off, staring at each other.

“This isn’t funny,” Sawamura said. “Koutarou—“

“It’s not me!” Bokuto said, voice loud.

“Who is doing it?” Iwaizumi asked again, loud as well now.

The planchette scraped across the board. No one was touching it. They stared, wide eyed. Kuroo and Bokuto backed away, Bokuto grasping at Kuroo’s shoulder.

‘M. E.’

“How are you doing that?” Ushijima asked calmly, like he was watching a magic show, but no one was doing it.

“We’re not,” Sawamura said slowly.

Oikawa went to go touch the planchette then stopped. “Is this Hinata Shouyou?”

A pause, then the planchette moved to the top of the board where yes and no were.

‘No.’

“Oh, fuck this,” Bokuto said, standing. “I’m out. Fuck you guys. This isn’t funny!”

“Who is this?” Oikawa pressed.

The plancette moved rapidly. Iwaizumi called out the letters, “T-O-B-I-O.”

“Are you dead, Tobio?” Iwaizumi asked.

‘Yes.’

“Stop asking questions!” Bokuto screeched, tugging at his hair and backing away. “Oh man, this is so screwed up. Let’s get out of here and burn that thing and sleep together with all the lights on.”

“Seconded,” Kuroo said.

“This isn’t a joke?” Ushijima asked.

‘No.’

“No more questions!” Sawamura said.

It moved again. Oikawa called out, “L-O-N-E-L-Y.”

Bokuto ran for the door, but the handle did not budge. He shook and tugged at it violently.

“P-L-A-Y,” Iwaizumi said. He ripped the planchette off the board, tossed it against the wall, and folded up the board.

They were silent.

Oikawa breathed out and he saw it in the air like fog. Like he was suddenly able to feel his body, he grabbed his arms, teeth clattering together. It was _freezing_.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck! Oikawa’s brain thought in a blur.

Then the candles went out with a gust of impossible air. There were no windows open. The smoke lingered and burned Oikawa’s noise. They scrambled for the bag with the lights, turning on the lantern and each grabbing a flashlight.

“Guys,” Oikawa said when they flicked the lantern on, but the word was drowned out as the radio roared to life, a deafening static filling the room. The radio flicked between channels, never settling, like it was tuning itself.

Oikawa scrambled to his feet, grabbed the radio, and ripped out the batteries. It kept tuning, the static growing louder, the sound scrapping through the air like a physical thing.

Kuroo and Sawamura joined Bokuto at the door, trying to get it open, but the knob wouldn’t budge. Iwaizumi got up and stood next to Oikawa, who grabbed onto his arm and squeezed tight, like that may just wake him up from this nightmare.

Ushijima grabbed the radio from Oikawa, turning it every which way. The next time it faced him head on, a child’s voice came out:

“Play with me.”

Kuroo checked his phone. “No cell service.”

“Back door,” Bokuto called out, spiriting across the room to the archway that led to the kitchen. There was a door that led outside. Oikawa let go of Iwaizumi and hurried over with the rest.

Oikawa stopped at the edge between the two rooms, staring at the kitchen tiles.

He knew those tiles.

“No!”

Everyone stopped. Bokuto froze in the middle of the kitchen. Everyone else was behind Oikawa in the other room.

“No,” Oikawa repeated, voice small. He grabbed his hair, palms cold against his temples, his entire body shaking. “No, no, no, no, no…”

He knew the river and now he knew the tiles.

“Tooru?” Kuroo asked.

Iwaizumi pried one of Oikawa’s hands off his temple and held his hand like he had five years ago. “What’s wrong, Tooru? You’re pale. Shit, can you see something?”

“Bro. Is there a demon child near me?” Bokuto asked, eyes wide.

“I saw,” Oikawa said, feeling like he did five years ago. He couldn’t breathe. Shit. He was having a panic attack and he didn’t have his medication. His insides felt turned out, his bones felt like knives, his breath heavy in his chest. “I saw.”

“You saw?” Ushijima asked.

“Again?” Kuroo asked in disbelief.

“Holy shit, are you actually psychic?” Bokuto asked.

He didn’t know. All he knew was that he recognized those tiles, he died on those tiles. _Ushijima_ died on those tiles.

“No way,” Kuroo said. “Tooru isn’t a psychic. Psychics don’t exist.”

“Neither do ghosts!” Bokuto said. “But the demon child on the radio is changing my mind!”

Kuroo pushed past Oikawa and walked across the kitchen to the door, but the door was locked. Behind them, on the radio, they heard a laugh. Kuroo pounded on the door with his good hand and Bokuto ran over, trying the door as well, shoving and pulling at it, trying to force it open.

“Who?” Iwaizumi stared at Oikawa, who looked pleadingly at Iwaizumi for him to ask anything but that. “ _Who_ , Tooru?”

Ushijima moved to step inside, and Oikawa let go of Iwaizumi’s hand to grab fistfuls of the back of his shirt and yank him back.

“No!” he shouted. “You can’t go in there!”

Sawamura looked between Ushijima and Oikawa, who refused to let go of Ushijima. He knew Ushijima died in there. If he just stopped him from going in, he wouldn’t die. He could stop it. This time, he could stop it.

“Another way,” Oikawa pleaded, shoving his face against Ushijima’s shoulder. “We need to find another way out.”

The static grew louder.

Iwaizumi nodded. “Okay. Tetsurou, Koutarou, keep working on that door; use the lock pick set and see if you can get it. Daichi, you and I will try the front door again. Maybe we can knock it down. Tooru, Ushijima, take your flashlights and go into the basement. There’s a cellar that lets outside. If none of that works, we try the windows.”

Iwaizumi finished then looked at Oikawa and asked, “Is that okay with you?”

Oikawa nodded.

When Iwaizumi moved, they all did.

“And you,” Iwaizumi said as he passed the radio, “shut up and leave my friends alone.”

 

* * *

 

Part of Ushijima wondered why they would take a prank this far as he descended the stairs to the cellar with Oikawa. Why didn’t Oikawa want him to go into the kitchen? What were they all talking about? Who was Tobio? He thought the boy’s name was Hinata Shouyou.

Oikawa walked down the stairs first, his flashlight jerking as his hands shook. He was clearly afraid. They all were. Ushijima did not know what to say to calm him down.

I saw.

Those words clearly meant something to all of them. He felt left out, not knowing, then realized there was no reason to feel left out. They would explained, eventually, like they explained everything else—Bokuto’s Third Grade Peanut Butter Catastrophe (“Capitalized,” Kuroo said), how Sawamura broke his leg and rode himself to the hospital, what Oikawa meant with different emojis, their obsession with finding Hinata Shouyou’s killer.

One was not like the other, he realized, but didn’t care. They were his friends. He had never had friends before. He was sure friends accepted things like accidentally finding a missing, dead child. Or maybe not. Now was not the time to debate friendship.

The basement floor was made of damp dirt and the shelves were caked in more dust than upstairs. Old canned food was left untouched and cardboard boxes of clothes were shoved into corners.

“Over here,” Oikawa said, walking towards a latch. He walked up a few steps and shoved at it. He cursed. “Locked.”

“Let me try.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes but moved aside, letting Ushijima try. He tried, pushing and shoving, but it did not move.

“I’m guessing something like this has never happened before,” Ushijima said, giving up. He began to head towards the stairs and felt Oikawa tug on the middle of his shirt. “Oikawa, we need to go back upstairs.”

Oikawa stepped to his left, walking towards the steps, clearly in front of him, but the tugging remained on his shirt, like a small child.

“Oikawa,” Ushijima said in an unwavering voice. “Something is tugging my shirt.”

Oikawa was half way up the stairs. “Stop joking.”

“I’m.” Ushijima moved forward and it tugged again. “I’m not joking.”

Oikawa stopped, turned around, walked behind Ushijima. Hesitantly, Oikawa looked behind him.

Then, Oikawa laughed.

“Your shirt got caught on one of these metal shelves,” Oikawa said, freeing the fabric.

Ushijima actually smiled. He couldn’t believe he had been afraid for a second there.

Oikawa went up the stairs before him. Ushijima made it up three before someone tugged on the back of his shirt, tearing him back with violence force, and he fell into the dirt with a pained choke.

 

* * *

 

Sawamura watched as Iwaizumi shoved himself against the front door again, and again, and again. Sawamura grabbed his shoulder.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Sawamura said. Iwaizumi was panting heavily.

“We have to get out,” Iwaizumi said, panting.

Kuroo cursed from the other room and they both froze. When no other noise followed, they figured it was just frustration. They both let out a sigh of relief.

“Is Tooru okay?” Sawamura asked lowly. “I haven’t seen him look like that since… Five years ago, actually.”

“Tooru’s fine,” Iwaizumi said with an air of confidence.

“How do you know?” Sawamura asked.

Iwaizumi blinked at him, like he thought Sawamura was blind for not seeing the answer already. “Because he’s the strongest person I know.”

“Yeah,” Sawamura agreed, wondering if he was blind for not seeing that already. “C’mon. Let’s try it at the same time. We may be able to get it to move.”

“We’re trying upstairs,” Kuroo said as Bokuto and he walked briskly behind them, taking a bag upstairs. “I think there’s a balcony out back. If you hear glass shattering, we’ve moved on to windows.”

Sawamura and Iwaizumi looked at each other.

“On three?” Iwaizumi asked.

“On three,” Sawamura agreed.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa ran down the stairs, hunched over Ushijima, and turned the flashlight from side to side as Ushijima tried to sit up. He panted heavily, his heart racing, adrenaline rushing. Run, run, run, he thought, his body trembling. Run and leave.

But there was nowhere to run.

“Tobio?” Oikawa called out.

That name, he thought suddenly. He’d heard that name before. He hadn’t recognized it before, but saying it out loud…

A child laughed.

Oikawa grabbed Ushijima’s arm, yanked him up, and dragged him towards the stairs. They ran up, taking the steps two at a time, somehow managing to get up without stumbling or catching their feet. They slammed the door shut behind them.

Oikawa didn’t think that would stop a ghost but it made him feel a fraction better. His mind was still struggling to wrap around the situation.

On the other side of the room, Iwaizumi and Sawamura were slamming themselves into the door. They stopped when they heard the door, looking over at Oikawa and Ushijima, who had gone pale.

“This is not a joke,” Ushijima said in realization.

“No shit,” Oikawa muttered. He walked over to Iwaizumi and Sawamura, who shook their heads; they couldn’t get the door to move. “Why does the name Tobio sound so familiar?”

“What are you talking about?” Iwaizumi said. Oikawa could imagine the gears turning in his head and he recognized the moment Iwaizumi recognized it too. “Wait. How do we know this name? It’s not someone in school.”

Iwaizumi looked at Sawamura, who shrugged, then over at Ushijima, who was shaking all over.

“Two people should go upstairs with Tetsurou and Koutarou,” Sawamura said suddenly. “They’re being quiet.”

“Two?” Ushijima asked.

“Do you want to walk alone?” Iwaizumi asked.

“C’mon, let’s go, Ushijima,” Sawamura said.

As the two headed upstairs, Iwaizumi slid his hand into Oikawa’s. Oikawa held on tight like he had five years ago. Iwaizumi’s hand was larger now, rougher, but it still felt right, calming in an inexplicable way. This could not be a dream because Iwaizumi was so very real next to him.

Everything around them was real as well. Sometimes, he thought, being real did not make something better.

“We should check the windows,” Iwaizumi said, beginning to walk, not letting go.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo never believed in ghosts. He didn’t know what he believed in—God, Heaven, what be you—but ghosts were not on the list.

Now he stood in a large bedroom on the second floor with Bokuto and the shadows had faces. The creaks of the wooden floor were voices. The cobwebs that brushed his skin were fingers clawing at him.

He knew they were not. He knew it was his mind making things up.

As Bokuto banged on the windows, which did nothing but bend like plastic, Kuroo looked around the room. He ran his hand along the dresser against the wall, the dust thick under his fingers, the sight of his own reflection in the mirror nearly giving him a heart attack.

Apophenia, he thought. Connections were there were not meant to be connections, faces were there should not be faces, voices were there should not be voices.

He did not believe in ghosts until tonight.

He picked up a picture frame off the dresser. It was of a family—a man, a woman, and a small child.

Why did he recognize this family?

Why did the name Tobio feel familiar?

Was it a true connection, or was it fake? He didn’t know anymore. Real or fake blurred together. He felt like he was in a dream, or a nightmare.

“Hey, Koutarou, come here,” Kuroo said and Bokuto listened, leaning against his back. “Do you recognize them? I feel like I’ve seen them.”

“Holy shit,” Bokuto said. “It’s them. That murder-suicide case we read about!”

Kuroo’s eyes widened. Everything clicked into place.

Years and years ago, before they had even been born, a man had gone crazy. One night, he smothered his young son and then killed his wife and then himself. They had been researching other childhood disappearances in case a serial kidnapper took Hinata, but all they found was the Kageyama family.

They never knew it was this house. They never made that connection.

“Their kid was named Tobio,” Kuroo said.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Bokuto repeated. “That was, like, thirty years ago!”

“Why would the kid go all Evil Casper on us now, though? We’ve been coming here for years.”

“I don’t know, but we should tell the others.”

They nodded in agreement.

Now, Kuroo didn’t know what he believed in other than his friends.

 

* * *

 

The radio crackled. Iwaizumi looked at it over his shoulder, never letting go of Oikawa’s hand as Oikawa fiddled with one of the windows in the living room. They wouldn’t budge. Iwaizumi had tried wrapping his fist in the curtain and smashing through, but the glass bent like plastic wrap that never tore, stretching and stretching beyond what was possible.

He was running out of ways to curse without being offensive.

The radio cracked again.

“I swear I heard something,” Iwaizumi said.

“The static?” Oikawa said. “I hear it too. Glad you’re not deaf from all our terrified screaming.”

“No.” Iwaizumi tugged on Oikawa’s hand and they walked over to the radio. Iwaizumi finally let go, but Oikawa grabbed onto his elbow as Iwaizumi played with the dials, as if tuning into a station. Oikawa’s hands were cold; he hadn’t worn gloves.

“He,” the radio said, voice clear and high. Oikawa’s eyes expanded like bugs’. Iwaizumi tuned into that station, but it was still static. “‘nt mean… hurt… left alone.”

Iwaizumi frowned at the radio. “Is this Tobio, or someone else?”

Static.

“C’mon,” Iwaizumi grumbled.

Bokuto and Kuroo came flying down the stairs, panting, holding a picture, which they held up for Iwaizumi and Oikawa to see. Iwaizumi didn’t immediately recognize the family, but Oikawa seemed to.

“Kageyama Tobio,” Oikawa said.

A second later, the radio said, “Hinata Shouyou.”

“Hinata?” Bokuto asked. “Hinata, is that you?”

“We… play. I left… alone…”

“I don’t know what that means,” Iwaizumi said, looking around at his friends, who shook their heads. Damn it all.

“…fell,” the radio crackled. “Then… left alone…”

“You’re alone?” Oikawa asked.

“No.”

“Oh, God,” Kuroo said. “Are you saying you died and moved on or whatever ghosts usually do, and now Tobio is alone?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t get it,” Bokuto said.

“They used to play together,” Kuroo explained. “Hinata must have been able to see him, or something, I don’t know. But they used to play together, then Hinata fell and died, and now Tobio is alone.”

“You fell?” Oikawa asked in a strange voice. His hands were a vice on Iwaizumi’s elbow, like with a single tug, he could tear it out. Iwaizumi would let him, if it helped Oikawa get through this. “It was an accident?”

“I slipped,” Hinata said.

They were all quiet for a moment.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Oikawa muttered, so quiet that only Iwaizumi heard. “I couldn’t have stopped it.”

The radio went silent. Iwaizumi had a feeling it wouldn’t turn back on this time.

“What do we do?” Bokuto asked.

“We get Tobio to move on,” Kuroo said. “Somehow.”

“Where are Daichi and Ushijima?” Bokuto asked.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa shared a quick look.

“We told them to go upstairs,” Iwaizumi said slowly, cautiously, not trusting that the sudden fear in his stomach wouldn’t take over and make him scream out _Daichi! Ushijima!_

“We didn’t see them,” Kuroo said.

“Fuck,” Bokuto cursed.

Then, they heard a crash in the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Sawamura opened the bedroom closet, saw nothing but moth-eaten clothes, and closed it. Ushijima was behind him, checking under the bed. Sawamura turned and the old wood cracked, rotten and damp. He froze.

“Ushijima, I think we should—“

The floor broke beneath them. No, just beneath Ushijima.

Sawamura ran to the whole in the floor, looking down through the dust to where Ushijima had fallen. He was lying on the kitchen floor, groaning, no bones twisted in too wrong of ways.

“You okay?” Sawamura asked.

“Relatively speaking, yes.”

Sawamura watched from above as everyone ran into the kitchen. Oikawa sprinted towards Ushiijima, tugging at him, trying to get him to stand.

“Out!” Oikawa said. “You can’t be in here. You can’t—“

“How?” Sawamura called from above. “Tooru, how does he die?”

Oikawa looked up at Sawamura. “K-Knife.”

“Guys, go grab all the knives and put them in the bags, or lock them in the cabinets,” Sawamura said.

“What?” Ushijima murmured as Oikawa tugged at him.

“You’re so heavy!” Oikawa complained. “Stop being a rag doll and help me, damn it!” 

As the others ran about the kitchen, collecting the knives and putting them into drawers, one knife floated up from the knife block. It was long and sharp, shining when Iwaizumi’s light hit it.

“Knife!” Sawamura shouted.

All at once, Oikawa threw himself over Ushijima, the knife flew through the air towards them, and Kuroo held up a cutting board. The knife hit the cutting board and Kuroo stared, like he didn’t believe what he just did.

In the corner, a small child flickered into view. His eyes were black and the light went through him. Sawamura suddenly felt very, very angry and very, very cold.

“Kageyama Tobio,” Oikawa said, voice wavering. He stood up, leaving Ushijima on the floor, and walked towards the child. “That’s your name, right? Kageyama Tobio.”

The figure flickered.

“We’re Hinata’s friends,” Oikawa said.

“Shouyou had no friends!”

“That’s not true,” Iwaizumi said. “You were his friend.”

Tobio stilled.

“What happened?” Oikawa asked.

“He got hurt,” Tobio said. “I went to get help. No one else could see me. He got hurt and no one came to help!”

“We came,” Oikawa said. “I saw him and we came. I wish I had seen him sooner so I could have helped. I wanted to help. God, Tobio, I wished I could have helped.”

Tobio sniffled, crying.

“He left,” Tobio said. “He died and he left.”

“Why didn’t you leave when you died?” Ushijima asked.

“God, have some subtlety!” Oikawa said, hitting him on the shoulder.

Tobio laughed then quieted, shuffling back and forth. “I was s-scared.”

“Are you still scared?” Oikawa asked, crouching down now. “I know what it’s like to be scared. I see things, things people shouldn’t, maybe like Shouyou. I think bad things, too, things I don’t mean. I’m scared. But you know what I do when I’m scared?”

“What?” Tobio asked in a small voice.

“I go and see my friends,” Oikawa said, smiling. “They always make me feel better. I bet seeing Shouyou would make you feel better. I bet he misses you.”

Tobio looked at Oikawa, dark eyes gaining back their whites. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Oikawa said.

Tobio nodded.

Then, just like that, Tobio was gone.

 

* * *

 

They carefully made their way outside, hesitant and scared that the door may shut on them, snapping them in half or trapping them. But that didn’t happen. The chill disappeared, and the shadows still looked like faces, but they were outside.

At the bottom of the hill, they stopped by their bikes. Oikawa was afraid to touch his, like it may be an illusion, like maybe the knife had impaled him and he was dying out and this was all a dream.

Iwaizumi looked over at him. Oikawa looked back.

“I didn’t kiss her,” Iwaizumi said. “Shirofuku. I didn’t kiss her at that party. She said she was okay with doing it, but I didn’t want to, so we just talked.”

“Why didn’t you?” Oikawa asked. “She’s pretty.”

“She wasn’t you.”

Iwaizumi met his eyes.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Oikawa sucked in a breath, leaned to kiss him, but Iwaizumi beat him to the punch. Iwaizumi shot up, a hand on the back of Oikawa’s neck, and kissed him gently.

“Is this really the moment?” Kuroo asked. “We nearly got killed by a demonic ten-year-old ghost and you think, ‘Now would be the time to realize we love each other.’”

Oikawa pulled back, smiling, so frighteningly close to Iwaizumi’s face, like this may just be a dream.

“Real?” Iwaizumi murmured, so only Oikawa could hear.

Oikawa understood.

“Real.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rushed this chapter (mainly the last two scenes) to get it up by the 31st. I'm glad I got it out, but I haven't decided if I'm going to come back and fix up those scenes. We'll see if the inspiration ever strikes. This story got away from me at some point!


	4. Epilogue

Oikawa breathed into his hands, wishing he had brought gloves. His fingers were frozen. He hadn’t expected it to start snowing. He felt like he was one degree away from being a corpse.

“I told you to bring gloves,” Iwaizumi said.

“Yes, mother,” Oikawa replied.

They met eyes and grinned. Iwaizumi sighed, reached over, and took one of Oikawa’s hands, shoving it into the large pocket of his ski jacket. Iwaizumi’s hand was sweaty and slick and Oikawa briefly wondered if his cold hand was cold enough to freeze the sweat and stick their hands together forever. Probably not—physics and bodies didn’t work like that.

From the bottom of the hill, just beyond the cemetery gates, they saw Kuroo arrive on his motorcycle. Sawamura was riding behind him.

Oikawa picked himself up off the ground just slightly and scooted closer to Iwaizumi so they would all have room around the grave. He absently rubbed the fresh snow off the top of the tombstone, brushing out what little had settled in the carvings on the front.

Hinata Shouyou.

Oikawa rested his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

“Is it strange that I always feel calm here?” Oikawa asked.

“At a cemetery? Probably.” Iwaizumi tilted his head so it rests on Oikawa’s and Oikawa relaxed further. “You want to talk about it?”

Oikawa snorted, an unattractive sound, but Iwaizumi didn’t care. Iwaizumi had seen him burp and throw up and cry and scream. Snorting at Iwaizumi being sensitive and caring was not the worst thing in the world.

“I’m okay,” Oikawa said. “Can’t wait to see the others.”

When Kuroo and Sawamura made it up the hill, Kuroo and Iwaizumi bumped fists. After Kuroo and Sawamura settled down, Ushijima arrived, and finally Bokuto, who was tugging at his jeans.

“I ripped my pants jumping the fence!” he lamented.

Kuroo snorted. “It’s daytime. You could go through the gate.”

Bokuto grumbled. Kuroo jumped to his feet and hugged him, laughing.

“Good to see you,” Kuroo said.

Oikawa smiled at his friends.

They had all changed. They had all remained the same.

“Should we get started?” Ushijima asked.

“Yeah,” Sawamura said.

Bokuto took a few tiny toy cars out of his bag and set them in front of the grave while Sawamura took out some fake flowers, changing them for the ones they had left at Halloween. These flowers were bright in the winter dreariness. Kuroo took out the radio and set it in front of them.

“So,” Kuroo said, “how have you been?”

As expected, there was no response. Ever since that Halloween three years ago, there had been no response.

Bokuto sat next to the tombstone, took out his phone, and began flipping through the pictures, holding the phone like Hinata may just be sitting right there next to him. He showed him pictures of the sports team he had joined, of parties (“They’re child-friendly!”), of random animals he had seen.

“Those two are still gross,” Bokuto said, grinning at Iwaizumi and Oikawa. “Tooru texts Hajime twenty times an hour, minimum, and Daichi and I have to deal with it. Tetsurou and Wakatoshi are lucky they go to different schools.”

“Lucky isn’t the word I’d use,” Kuroo said, a little sadly. “Growing up sucks, Shouyou.”

“Yeah, but because we’re adults, we’re allowed to come here and talk to you and Tobio and not get sent to therapy again,” Bokuto said.

“True,” Kuroo said, laughing.

Oikawa wasn’t sure how long they spent sitting there, talking to a dead boy. It should have been stranger than it was. It felt normal.

Oikawa closed his eyes and pushed away the thoughts of the broken, dead boy by the river and replaced them with happier images.

Eventually, they got to their feet.

“Tobio next!” Bokuto said excitedly.

As they walked over to the next hill, Ushijima looked at Oikawa and asked, “How are you doing, Tooru? You mentioned new medication awhile ago but the conversation quickly turned to Tetsurou blowing up the chemistry lab.”

“It was a small fire,” Kuroo corrected.  

“I haven’t seen any of you die, if that’s what you’re asking,” Oikawa said.  

“If that changes, let us know,” Sawamura said.

Oikawa laughed.

“Are you okay?” Ushijima asked earnestly.

Oikawa looked out across the graveyard, at Iwaizumi's back, feeling safe and cold and real, and he smiled. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've never written horror before so any feedback would be the best! I hope you liked the story :)
> 
> I don't know if I'll ever write horror again, but it feels nice to finally be able to say I attempted a proper Halloween fic. I personally love chapter 2, but I'm only half in love with chapter 3, which I had to rush to get done in time. Either way, I'm glad I could finish this by my deadline and get this out in time for Halloween!


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